


I'd sit alone and watch your light

by Alkarinque



Series: things falling in and out of place [1]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anxiety, Coming of Age, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Years of the Trees, in the background mostly - Freeform, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-11
Updated: 2018-09-11
Packaged: 2019-07-11 00:58:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15961289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkarinque/pseuds/Alkarinque
Summary: “Where is he? He’s late. For his own – ““Yes, I know, Káno”, Maitimo cut off his brother, though he had just thought the same.Makalaurë looked annoyed but Maitimo ignored it. This was the fourth time his brother had mentioned it, and Maitimo got a bit more antsy every time. He glanced in the direction of his grandfather who stood with his father on the side not far away. The king had yet to start showing any notion of his missing grandson, but Fëanáro looked annoyed.“What do you think is holding him up?” Makalaurë asked and Maitimo sighed.“It could be a lot of things.”“Like fear, perhaps? Is he a fearful person?”





	I'd sit alone and watch your light

Findekáno had so far never been so afraid and nervous in his life. Every muscle felt tense and he tried to roll his shoulders to make them look more relaxed, but they soon were stiff and nearly reaching his ears again. His heart had thankfully stopped beating so fast, but it seemed to beat harder than when he was calm, as if it was ready to start up again if he just gave it the chance to. His hands were fists at his sides, and he could feel how sweaty they had become.

 _Get yourself together_ , he urged himself, but it was useless. Fear still froze him and kept him in the shadow of a column just left of the entrance.

Before him was the ballroom of his grandfather’s palace. It had the smell of perfume and a small trace of sweat and the lights lining the walls and the polished gold and silver on the walls and columns made his eyes hurt. Not to say all _the people_. Findekáno had seen balls before – he was a _prince_ , he had run around in these things as soon as he could walk, if he was allowed to or not - and knew how many people could fill a space as big as the ballroom, but it was still a shock. When watching from afar, behind pillars on the upper floor, it had never seemed so scary as it did now. Now he was grown and had greater expectations on him than he did when he was a child. Strange how it was, that he was a child one day but grown the next, but still felt very much the same.

His mother’s reminder, that he was technically not mature _yet,_ just _on the way there; people will only see you as truly grown in another fifty years, Findekáno_ only helped a little. He had his own expectations and was fully aware of what standard his cousins had set. Kanafinwë had also just a few years ago reached fifty, and Findekáno flinched as he saw his prim cousin before him. He could come across as a bit pompous, but he still held a mature dignity Findekáno could only dream of. Nelyafinwë was far worse, though he was also older, Findekáno reminded himself.

Nelyafinwë had the same dignity his brother had, but never showed any signs of Kanafinwë’s pretentious side. Rather the opposite – he had a courteous grace Findekáno recognised from his mother, princess Nerdanel, from the few times he had seen her. He did most things in court with that grace; dancing, talking, listening and so on. Findekáno knew his cousins must have a few flaws, but it was hard to think so when he had yet to spot any.

He was taken back from his thoughts as he heard his name in the crowd close by. A moment later he felt the dawning realisation that he was _late_. He had yet to walk into the crowd and make himself known, and _by the Valar, no._ It was his own coming of age celebration! He swallowed, stretched out his fingers and tried to calculate how late he was.

He nearly took a step back or to the right, as if to walk out immediately.

 _The sooner you walk in, the less damage you will cause,_ he told himself. _It will be right in time for them to start dinner. It cannot be so strange in their eyes for you to miss mingling._

He could say he had become late because of Írissë and Turukáno. It was not really a lie; he had been a little late even before he had frozen in this place, because his little sister had insisted on climbing a tree. And obviously, as the older brother and taller than Turukáno, he had had to take her down and search for her nursemaid.

 _Right,_ he thought. _That could work._

He took deep breath and ignored the picture of his perfect cousins in his head – _forget expectations, this is_ your _celebration, you can do this, beat the fear_ – and stepped out into the light.

 

“Where is he? He’s late. For his own – “

“Yes, I know, Kano”, Maitimo cut off his brother, though he had just thought the same.

Makalaurë looked annoyed but Maitimo ignored it. This was the fourth time his brother had mentioned it, and Maitimo got a bit more antsy every time. He glanced in the direction of his grandfather who stood with his father on the side not far away. The king had yet to start showing any notion of his missing grandson, but Fëanáro looked annoyed.

“What do you think is holding him up?” Makalaurë asked and Maitimo sighed.

“It could be a lot of things.”

“Like fear, perhaps? Is he a fearful person?”

Maitimo did not know. He tried to remember their cousin Findekáno, for whom the feast was for. They had not met many times, Fëanáro only took his sons to visit Finwë and Nolofinwë’s oldest had yet to enter the social circles Maitimo frequented. He only came up with images of a child, smiling and looking away from the adult’s talk to the garden or stables. He had not been a quiet child, Maitimo remembered, though not terribly loud either. Not like, for example, Turkafinwë. He had once climbed the tallest tree in Finwë’s garden, Maitimo remembered, and had stayed in it until Anairë had, unimpressed, told him to get down. Even then, the child had hesitated in obeying.

“Nothing of what I remember about him suggest he’s very fearful, no”, Maitimo answered slowly, with the fading memory of the small child in the tree, laughing, surrounded by green leaves, “Rather the opposite, actually.”

Makalaurë let out a small ‘hmph’, suggesting he would have liked that scenario. Perhaps because it would have been nice to have something on this cousin of theirs they had never known. He was, after all, the oldest of the grandchildren of Indis, and the oldest of Nolofinwë, meaning he was relatively important.

Not as important as them though, Fëanáro had made clear early in his sons’ lives while Nerdanel had frowned disapprovingly in the background.

“Soon the dinner has to begin”, Maitimo noted.

“But it can’t start without him, can it?” Makalaurë asked, looking at his older brother, still unsure of how feasts were to be arranged, though not willing to show it.

Maitimo was about to answer that _yes, if to keep the guests happy_ when he saw someone black-haired with the familiar small circlet of a prince enter.

 

Their cousin gave some excuse about siblings keeping him up, a hesitant smile on his face, which his grandfather returned with a warm smile, stating that it was forgiven. Nolofinwë looked surprisingly calm through it all, as did Anairë, and they spoke with their son quietly afterwards. It did not seem like a very strained conversation, meaning that they probably were not upset. Meanwhile, Finwë invited the guests into the dining hall, and Maitimo, his brother and the rest of the royal family followed into the hall and seated themselves to eat.

All this Maitimo watched and did in silence, with his gaze returning to his cousin now and then. Makalaurë must have noticed but said nothing, which Maitimo was grateful for. It would be embarrassing to say the truth, that he had to look at the young man to somehow understand how that small child had become … whatever this before him was.

He sat with Makalaurë and the rest of his family on one side of the room, with Findis and Írimë also seated at the table. On the other sat Nolofinwë’s family and Finwë and Indis and the guests dined in the middle. Arafinwë and his family were absent, but it was no surprise as they lived in Alqualondë and if one thing was certain, it was that his father’s youngest half-brother avoided Tirion’s court.

Maitimo conversed with his aunt Findis for a while, before she and Makalaurë started talking about music and the Academy in Alqualondë, where Makalaurë hoped to soon enter as a pupil. This conversation was good, because it kept the table from going silent. Findis was not overly fond of Fëanáro, and Fëanáro not of her, but instead of arguing they both ignored each other, rather leaving the rest of their company in uncomfortable silence than acknowledging each other. Írimë, on the other hand, was younger and from what Maitimo had picked up from small stories here and there from various people, he guessed she had not met her half-brother as much as her older sister. This meant she could have been more welcoming, but something with her mannerisms set Maitimo’s father off in a bad way, resulting in Maitimo trying to keep them separate. Otherwise the mood at the table would turn sour fast.

Throughout the dinner, he found himself wishing his mother was there to help conversation and ease his father’s rude behaviour, and not at home resting. His father had insisted that she stay at home; she was soon to birth and Fëanáro was, as usual, ten times more worried and skittish than Nerdanel herself. Maitimo would have found it funny, had it not meant that his father was left to handle himself alone at social events. Because that left Maitimo to handle the aftermath, which was less than pleasant.

“Have you met Findekáno before, Nelyafinwë?”

Maitimo turned to Írimë, cut off in his thoughts and surprised. His aunt looked at him, kind and curious. It took a moment before he could answer.

“A few times, when he was just a child.”

He had continued to glance at his cousin throughout dinner, trying to pick up something about him from his mannerisms. After a while, when the tension in his shoulders disappeared, he had become so … open; smiling warm smiles and letting his body language be freer than the typical standard at court. It was strange when one compared it to his parents, who were not cold – though Fëanáro could sometimes say so when he was being foul – but distant as befit their station. Indeed, Maitimo had sometimes thought that his uncle Nolofinwë came off as stern and solemn and his aunt-by-marriage as proud and too formal. Maitimo had not anticipated that it would be such a contrast between them and their oldest child, who with his expressive face and – as it seemed – easy-going nature stood out even in the mass of people at the feast.

He then realised that this could be a chance to hear more about the cousin from his aunt and satisfy his curiosity.

“Have you met him a lot?” he asked his aunt, leaving only a little trace of his interest in the question.

Írimë laughed and Maitimo saw his father’s mouth quirk at the sound out of the corners of his eyes but ignored it, hoping his father would stay quiet. His aunt did not notice.

“Oh, yes! I’ve seen him grow up, along with his siblings. I assume you haven’t met them either?” When Maitimo shook his head, she continued: “Well, that’s no surprise. They are so much younger than you. The youngest, Írissë, is just around Turkafinwë’s age. But I guess you weren’t interested in Nolo’s younger children?”

Maitimo nearly blushed at his aunt’s words and glinting eyes and knowing smile. He could see how his father listened to their conversation, though looking as if he was gazing at the guests.

“I just wanted to hear a little about Findekáno. He’s the first of us grandchildren, besides my brother, who will come to court and yet, I know nearly nothing about him”, Maitimo answered, sticking to the truth.

Írimë still smiled, apparently not finding anything strange in his nephew’s answer.

“What do you want to know?”

“Uh”, Maitimo did not know where to start, did not even know what he had wanted to know. “Perhaps what he likes?”

 “Hah, that’s easy! The harder question would be what he _doesn’t_ like”, his aunt told him. “Findekáno likes riding, but also reading, and challenges. He likes dancing, with the right people, and singing, but more for the company than for the art itself. Hunting, too, though he’s not very competitive in it. These gatherings he can also like, if it’s not filled with too many stuck up people. Oh! And his siblings! They irritate him too, of course, but he still gladly plays with them when he has the time – “

 

When dinner ended, it was time for the dancing.

People moved from the tables to the ballroom which now had musicians in it, ready to play pieces for dancing.

As the only unmarried princes present, Findekáno, Maitimo and Makalaurë was to begin with asking a lady for a dance. Only after that, could others do the same.

Maitimo noticed that Findekáno asked a lady who he seemed to know – she laughed and so did he before they entered the dance floor, as if they were familiar with each other. Maitimo recognised the lady – she was a bit younger than him and older than Findekáno, belonged to a rich family in Tirion but was not part of the nobility and she was an excellent dancer. He wondered if Findekáno knew, and if he was any good at dancing. He remembered what his aunt had told him, about Findekáno liking dancing, with the right people.

Maitimo asked a lady he had danced with before, who already had her eyes on a lord’s son but liked dancing enough to say yes. He found it easier if he knew that the other did not read things into it but knew that he only asked for a dancing companion.

As he danced he could not look how it went for his brother nor his cousin, but he did hear a bit of small-talk from both directions where they should be, as well as a little laughter. 

When the last dance was over, Maitimo mingled, perhaps hoping quietly in his mind that he would meet Findekáno to strike up some sort of conversation. It was polite to at least give some congratulations, because Valar knew that his _father_ would not, as he cared little – _too_ little – for politeness. But also, to – if it went well – try to get to know him. Maitimo had realised, as he sat talking to Írimë and hearing about the rest of the family, that he knew terribly little about them compared to what they knew about each other. He always knew his father kept a distance to Finwë’s other children, but it was disturbing how removed he and his brothers had become to their cousins who all, as it seemed, were close in contact. He had realised, with a little shame, that he was jealous of it. He also wanted family relatively close in age, who were not brothers and could be visited like friends.

He and Findekáno would probably, in the future, meet regularly in the palace or in gatherings such as these, and would it not be ideal if they knew each other more closely?

His cousin was out of sight and Maitimo did not meet him as he mingled. If he had not known better, he would have thought he was being avoided. When he met Makalaurë, who stood and talked to relatives of the musicians, his brother also mentioned not meeting their cousin:

“Isn’t it strange? I have not once seen the sight of him, not even on the dancefloor, and _you_ , who have mingled so effectively, haven’t either.”

Maitimo said nothing in reply, only excused himself from the company to head over to a lord his father had offended last time they went out.

Eventually, Maitimo retired to one of the big balconies overlooking the lit gardens with a glass of wine. The air in the ballroom had got heavy and warm, and the cool air outside was welcomed. He leaned on the balustrade and sighed of relief. He could still hear the music, but also the unintelligible sound of the guests’ talks in the garden, perhaps talking about the flowers which filled the air with its soft smells. He was glad that that was the only thing he heard, knowing what often went on in the gardens when alcohol flowed and feelings with them.

Maitimo was just in the work of correcting his hair which had started to free itself from some braids when he heard someone’s steps against the stone floor and the soft ruffling of the thin, white curtain separating him from the ballroom and he realised someone had joined him. He let go of his hair and looked up.

If it was not Findekáno!

“Oh, you’re here- sorry, I can leave -”, he started but Maitimo waved him off:

“No, no, you can stay, it’s no trouble.”

His cousin hesitated and Maitimo looked him over. He looked far less tense than when he had stepped into the ballroom just a few hours ago and some of his braids were a little askew and loose. The face, still a bit young but showing signs of maturity, was just as open as it had seemed from Maitimo’s observations before and showed how he was uncertain about if he should stay. Was that a little colour on his cheeks? Was it from dancing or wine or something else? The clothes were still in place so hopefully he had not gone around kissing anybody – or doing something else unfitting -, which Maitimo knew was common to do at one’s coming of age celebration, though he had not done it himself. Too high risk of tiring consequences.

“Are you sure? You probably didn’t come here to be in the company of anyone else”, Findekáno said and Maitimo noticed he had become a little more nervous in how his fingers fiddled with the end of his robe.

“Yes, I’m sure, it’s no problem. I was actually looking for you, to give you my congratulations”, he reassured him, letting his voice become warmer.

Findekáno laughed awkwardly. “Thank you. It’s a bit strange to receive gratulations for something I didn’t actively do, though.”

Maitimo gave him a small smile, made a gesture to the space beside him and Findekáno moved to lean just right of him.

“I had to get out of one of the servants’ sight, or else they would recognise me from the kitchens”, he told Maitimo and Maitimo raised an eyebrow.

“You’ve been in the kitchens all this time?” he said, forgetting to not acknowledge his obvious absence. Findekáno coloured a bit.

“No, no, just a few minutes, to steal some cake. For my sister”, he clarified and Maitimo frowned.

“She’s here? Isn’t she a bit young?”

Findekáno laughed and Maitimo thought the sound suited him.

“She _is_ , but she doesn’t care. She ran away from her nursemaid again, probably, to get in here. And as an older brother, I obviously had to take care of it, so my parents don’t find out.”

“By giving her cake?” Maitimo asked, incredulous. From his experience with wild children – in other words; _Turkafinwë_ – cakes did little to make them do as they were told.

“By giving her a deal”, Findekáno told him, smiling. “If I gave her cake, she would stay away from people or tables and watch from the upper floor.”

Only members of the royal family were allowed on the upper floor, which held a passage around the ballroom with a balustrade, allowing oversight of the whole room.

“And she will keep it?” Maitimo asked again, still not sure it would work.

“At least for most of the night, but then she will hopefully have become too tired to venture out again or her nursemaid will have found her.”

“Or the guests.”

“My sister is very good at hiding; she won’t be spotted”, Findekáno said, certain of it, then said, after a little hesitation: “I taught her better than that.”

Maitimo laughed, taken by surprise. He had never heard anyone willingly admit to disobeying a rule. Or teaching it to others.

“Really? You used to do it too?” he asked, thinking back to every celebration that had occurred at the palace where he had been present. There were a few, and thinking that his cousin would have seen most of them, from a spot behind a pillar or the balustrade … Could one hear what people said from up there? What had he heard? Had he heard anything Maitimo had said?

“A _lot_ ”, Findekáno said, then his eyes turned downwards, and his smile faded just a little, as if remembering something. “When I was smaller, though. Now I must crawl on the floor or along the walls to not be seen, and I’ve been away to Taniquetil for some years, so I haven’t had the chance.”

“I see”, Maitimo said, wondering why he had not heard anything about that anywhere, and put it away to remember to not mention it so quickly to his father. “How long were you there?”

“Uhm, seven years, but of course I visited home quite often. Or else, according to Turukáno, my brother, he and Irissë would have run away to see me again.”

The last thing was said with a bit of pride, as if Findekáno himself was still moved and charmed by his brother’s statement. Maitimo wondered if Turkafinwë would say that to him if he were to live in Alqualondë or at Taniquetil for a few years. Presumably not. But he could possibly say it to Makalaurë, when he got into the Academy. He would probably _run away_ , as well.

“Is your brother just as … “ Maitimo searched for a polite word, “enthusiastic, as your sister?”

Findekáno snorted. “Valar, no. Or, usually not, but he has his moments. He’s more solemn and quiet, not very interested in what other people do.”

“Not like you, then?” Maitimo said and grinned.

Findekáno looked surprised for a second, then grinned back, though with a small blush present on his cheeks. “Not at all like me, no. I’m told I always get too interested in other people.”

They were both quiet for a moment, contemplating each other and their first real talk. And perhaps it was the wine, or the weariness from the feast, or the unusually comfortable conversation they just had, which made Maitimo allow himself to say quietly:

“That’s a good quality. You’re very good with people. You make them ease up.”

He looked at his cousin and saw the surprise in the younger face. He noticed how curly his hair was where it had freed itself from his braids – he wore more braids than Maitimo, nearly everything was controlled -, black, unruly strands bending after their own will. The hair which was still stuck in the braids was a shiny black, but it looked thicker than Maitimo’s brother’s.

“Th- Thank you”, Findekáno replied at last, still showing confusion and bewilderment.

Maitimo smiled back, the type of smile he did not use at social gatherings and polite talk with strangers. After a moment, his cousin smiled back. _A nice smile_ , Maitimo caught himself thinking, _as genuine as the ones he had given others, but still not the same. A special smile._

Maitimo found he liked the thought of Findekáno having a special smile reserved just for him.

 

“It’s unlike you to take so little part in feasts like you did tonight, Nelyafinwë”, Fëanáro remarked when he and his two oldest sons had gathered in one of their house’s parlours, to relax after the feast before going to bed.

Maitimo sat on a couch, looking through invitations to other upcoming gatherings, wondering how many he would have to go to, and if Findekáno would be on any of them. Makalaurë lay on another couch, lazily re-enacting a song Maitimo recognised being the first song from the feast. His brother stopped at their father’s words, though, and so did Maitimo in his skimming.

Fëanáro stood before a window, wine glass in his hand, gazing out into the smaller garden. The silver light of Telperion had dimmed, soon entering the Mingling, but it still cast its light over Fëanáro’s face, making the neutral expression colder.  

Maitimo put down the invitations before answering:

“Yes, I met cousin Findekáno and we ended up talking for the rest of the night.”

After the long silence that had followed Maitimo’s soft praise and Findekáno’s surprised thanks, they had resumed talking, though Findekáno’s blush had not dissipated for most of the night. They had talked of siblings – Maitimo gladly complaining about Turkafinwë, and Findekáno only laughing at it –, politicking – Findekáno telling Maitimo he was hopeless at it but willing to learn, and Maitimo offering to help him along -, cousins – Findekáno gladly sharing stories about Ingoldo -, aunts – Findis and Lalwen and their sisterly bickering -, parents – “mine aren’t so stuffy as everyone seems to think, I mean, mother swears like a sailor, you know” -, grandparents – Maitimo telling him about what his family does with Finwë, and Findekáno telling him of Indis and her spoiling of her grandchildren -, and friends – Findekáno surprising Maitimo with his contacts in Tirion’s lower classes as well as in the upper ones. Eventually, the whole night had passed, and the celebration was over. They had parted with a promise of seeing each other again, hopefully soon. Maitimo had looked on as Findekáno sneaked away through the crowd of people to find his parents and check if his sister was still hidden on the upper floor, thinking, amazed, that if it was one person he would wish to be his closest friend, it was him.

On the way home, he had promised himself that he would work hard for this wish to be fulfilled.

Now, with his father sticking his nose into it, he wondered if it would be harder than he first thought.

“With your half-cousin? You’ve never met him before”, his father said, incredulous.

Fëanáro was always meticuolous to put the ‘half’ in there.

“He was easy to talk to. I liked him.”

Maitimo did not know how critical his father was towards Nolofinwë’s children; Nolofinwë sure was a sore subject but Fëanáro had never explicitly spoken ill about his children. They were more often ignored than talked about in Maitimo’s home, and so he did not know how much he could tell his father without making him bolt like an ill-tempered horse.

“He was also terribly late to his own coming of age celebration”, Fëanáro noted disapprovingly.

Maitimo wanted to snort, knowing how rude his father could be and how little _he_ cared about such things as arriving on time. But he did not, instead shrugging and saying:

“His sister is very wild; he had to take care of it or else she would have caused more trouble. Turkafinwë does the same. The only difference is that he has two grown brothers who can stop him.”

Not that it helped much; Turkafinwë caused trouble even if one tried to stop him. He had a penchant for outwitting his family when he could.

Fëanáro sighed, probably thinking of his third child, and Maitimo thought that was a general opinion when it came to Turkafinwë.

“But the girl has a nursemaid for a reason.”

“So does Turkafinwë”, Makalaurë pointed out, joining the conversation.

“And you don’t blame Nyarissë when Turkafinwë is being difficult”, Maitimo added.

Fëanáro grew quiet, knowing his sons were right. Nyarissë had been employed when Turkafinwë had been born, and despite accidents and tricks pulled by the child Fëanáro and Nerdanel had not fired the nursemaid, nor blamed her. They both knew she did as best as she could, and the more familiar she had become with him as he grew, the antics had become rarer, though they never disappeared wholly.

“Very well, I don’t”, Fëanáro admitted, then going back to what he wanted to talk about: “But you say you like him? Is he of better character than his first impression made us believe?”

“Yes, he is”, Maitimo said. “He’s not as, uhm …  reserved as his parents, and quite funny. He’s joining the society soon.” Then, he added: “I offered to help him along the way.”

“Really?” his father said, now turning to him, not showing direct disapproval at it. “Does he need help?”

Maitimo sighed, suddenly feeling the tiredness from the evening and the insinuations his father gave.

“He’s never been involved much, but as the oldest of Indis’ grandchildren he will have to now. I would have been happy if someone had helped me when I first entered, so I thought I would be nice. Also, I like him. I would gladly guide him through it.”

He then excused himself and left the room for his bed. He fell asleep thinking of thick hair in tight braids, and a smile.

 

Findekáno sat in his family’s garden, alone. His parents were still up; he could hear them talking and the occasional clinking of glass behind him, in the house. His siblings were asleep. Soon the lights of the Trees would mingle together and then it would be day and the night of his coming of age celebration would be over. The nursemaid would wake his siblings and feed them breakfast and they would begin their lessons. His parents would probably have gone to sleep but would wake up later and play with Írissë and Turukáno before going back to the palace, perhaps for a dinner with Indis and Finwë to discuss the feast.

Findekáno had changed out of most of the formal clothes and sat on the cold grass in simple trousers and a shirt. He wanted to lay down. He wanted to take a walk through Tirion. He wanted to drink some wine. He wanted to sleep.

He sighed instead.

It was over. Now he was truly no longer a child allowed to hide in gardens and climb trees during gatherings in the palace or hide on the upper floor and watch everything unfold below him. His siblings could, and he wished they would never have to give that up. He wished he would not have had to give that up.

Now he had to relearn everything. There was a new life ahead of him; one filled with wine glasses and dancing and small talk and words laced with a hundred different meanings. No trees or upper floors or stolen cakes in sight.

 _At least I won’t be alone_ , Findekáno thought with a small, sad smile as golden light started to seep through Telperion’s silver.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) English is not my native language, and therefore there are probably mistakes. I would appreciate people telling me of them so I can correct them.
> 
> 2) I know, they didn't fall in love in this one, but I have started writing one where they do. 
> 
> 3) All the courtly rules are totally made up by me; I didn't have the energy to research.
> 
> 4) Notice how Maedhros is constantly mentioning Celegorm as the worst sibling ever.
> 
> 5) Title is taken from Queen's "Radio Ga Ga" because I don't listen to much else.
> 
> 6) I'm alkarinqque on tumblr! Come and say hi or ask a question if you want.
> 
> 7) Thank you for reading! Please leave a kudos (or even a comment!) if you liked it!


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